


Heaven Sent

by GenericUsername01



Series: PRIDE MONTH [7]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Closeted Character, Homophobia, M/M, also i've never experienced any other form of homophobia :), lots of quotes from gay music, pride month writing prompts, religious trauma, religiously based because that's what's easiest for me to write, twenty-first century au, warning for frank, why is that not already a tag lol?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 04:43:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14887868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenericUsername01/pseuds/GenericUsername01
Summary: Prompt: ClosetIt's 2018 and an alien suddenly appears in the cornfield beside Jim's house. He takes him home and tries to pass him off as a Canadian foreign exchange student that Frank totally agreed to house.





	Heaven Sent

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm skipping prompts 7 and 8 for now, but I'll come back and write them later, they just didn't particularly grab me with any ideas.
> 
> Frank is incredibly racist and homophobic in this fic, so use discretion when deciding to read or not.

Cornfields suck.

There's no two ways about it. They just suck, as places to be in general. Jim would know, because his family's property is surrounded by cornfields on three out of four sides. He's only got one neighbor-- old Doc Halliday, who likes to sit on his back porch and shoot at any animals foolish enough to come by. Frank sometimes invites him over and they both, invariably, get extremely racist when together.

Anyway. Cornfields.

They aren't at all what they look like on TV, all smooth dark dirt and evenly spaced corn with plenty of room between the rows. No. Corn in a field is about like slightly organized and very tall grass, pressed together as tight as can be to maximize production and with leaves and giant, angry bugs fucking everywhere. The corn is usually taller than people can get, except near the edges of the field, where it's shorter and far less healthy. The corn towards the center always does the best. The rows typically have scant inches between them and themselves form solid walls of vegetation. There's not really any room for a person to be in a cornfield.

Jim makes do anyway.

It's better than being in the house.

Doc Halliday is over and he and Frank are talking about  _sexual immorality_. There's an old-style tent revival in town coming up, and that's gonna be one of the major themes of it.

Jim just can't wait to be forced to attend.

He's lying down in the corn, though, and bugs are crawling on him and buzzing around, and the wind is rustling the corn leaves above his head. Puffy white clouds drift across the sky lazily, and Frank and Doc Halliday don't exist, only the music in Jim's headphones exists.

Heaven Sent by Parker Millsap. His most-played song.

 _Tried my hardest not to be,_  
_I locked the door and I broke the key._  
_Jesus died upon that tree,_  
_Daddy, do you think it covered me?_  
_Red and yellow, black and white._  
_We are precious in His sight._  
_Why can't I sleep through the night?_  
_Daddy, do you think I've turned out right?_

Jim really doesn't need to ask that question. Frank doesn't. And if Frank knew, he'd kick him out of the house in an instant.

Frank has never hit him. Jim has no reason to believe he'd start. He's not an abuser.

And yet.

And yet, Jim wouldn't come out to him unarmed.

He has a plan. He's going to save up every scrap of money he can get his hands on, and move out the day he turns eighteen. He will never come out to Frank. Frank doesn't need to know. He'll just never contact the man again.

He'll probably wonder why. Probably seek Jim out, at least once.

He says he loves Jim. He probably believe it, too. But it's not true. He loves Jim solely in the hypothetical sense. He loves the idea of having a son, he loves the person that Jim has led him to believe he is. He loves Jim provided Jim continues to live within certain parameters and follow certain terms and conditions. Should Jim ever decide to break one of these unspoken rules, his stepdad's love will be promptly and immediately revoked.

Love is conditional. It extends so far, and then it stops. There is one person in Jim's life who loves him enough to stick around, and Jim could end that completely with a two-word sentence.

It's a fucked-up thing to realize at fourteen. It's even more fucked up that he immediately went online and looked up the nearest homeless shelters to his middle school, just in case the worst should happen and Frank would find out somehow before Jim was ready.

All in all, his embarrassing seventh-grade crush on Gary Mitchell was quickly and violently repressed. Jim stopped hanging out with him altogether.

That was three years ago and now Jim is a sixteen-year-old sophomore listening to sad gay music in a cornfield.

Suddenly a shadow looms over him.

Jim blinks and sits up, pulling off his headphones. A boy his age with dark hair and strange clothes is standing in front of him. He holds up his hand in an unfamiliar salute.

"Live long and prosper," the boy says. "I offer you greetings in the way of my people. I am Spock of Vulcan."

"...What?"

"I request that you take me to your leader, please."

Jim stood up and brushed the dirt and ants off his jeans. "Okay. Um, what?"

"Please take me to your leader."

Jim looks the other boy over. He's his age. His ears are pointed, and he's flushed slightly green, but it seems natural, seems to suit him. His ears are pointed like a fairytale elf's, but other than that, he looks perfectly human.

And he's cute, of course, because fuck Jim's life.

"Are you an alien?" he asks. The guy doesn't appear to have any weapons on him, and he said please. He doesn't strike Jim as particularly intimidating. Something about him just seems... gentle. Plus the weird dress thing looks like it'd be hard to fight in.

Jim figures he's safe.

"In a manner of speaking," the boy said.

"What do you mean by that?"

"i am not of this planet, but I am half-human."

"Whoa, seriously? How's that even possible?"

"Genetic engineering."

"No, no, I mean, how did a human and a... What species are you?"

"Vulcan."

"Cool. How did a human and a Vulcan wind up together? 'Cuz I'm pretty sure I would have heard about it if Earth had been contacted by aliens before."

"Earth has been contacted by various extraterrestrial species forty-two times in its past. One of those incidences resulted in a scientific scout ship landing on this continent and making contact with a human woman named Amanda Grayson. She elected to return to Vulcan with the scouts and eventually mated one of them-- my father, Sarek of Vulcan," the human-alien kid said. "The mission was top secret and unsuccessful, pending reassessment. I am now here to conduct said reassessment."

"What exactly are you assessing?"

"Whether or not your species is advanced enough to handle interplanetary relations. Should I decide in the affirmative, first contact will be initiated."

"Oh! Well, we're totally ready for that."

"That is yet to be determined."

"Okay. I can work with that. I'll prove it to you," Jim said. "What do you want to know about humans?"

"Not to speak ill of your expertise--" Spock said. "-- but I would prefer to conduct this conversation with a person of more authority. I reiterate your request that you please take me to your leader."

"Ooh," Jim said. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Spock blinked. "Why?"

"Well, um, the current leader of this part of the planet is... Well... He doesn't speak for all humans, okay? I don't want my species to be represented by him. Me and a lot of other people don't even want this country to be represented by him. He's... not a good person. There are so many better humans to meet. And besides, if I took you to him, he would tell the whole world about Vulcans. Guarantee it. I, on the other hand, promise to keep your secret."

Spock considered this. "Your argument is logical. I trust your own assessment of the situation to be more nuanced than my own."

"Great!" Jim said. "So how long do you think you'll be staying? I recommend at least a day. Earth is pretty complicated."

"I estimate it will take 5.8 months to repair the shuttle."

"What?"

Spock inclined his head, and Jim turned around and saw a mangled wreck of a space shuttle about a quarter mile further into the field.

"Oh."

* * *

Jim snuck Spock into the farmhouse through the backdoor, figuring Frank would be drinking beer in the livingroom.

He wasn't.

"And just who the hell is this?" Frank asked.

"I am Spock," he said before Jim could stop him.

"What sort of a name is that?"

"Um, Spock's gonna be staying with us. At least until winter break," Jim said.

 _"What?"_ Frank snapped. "Like hell he is! School ain't even started up yet. It is the goddamn middle of summer. I am not housing a  _second_ snot-nosed kid for six months. Doesn't he have parents?"

"I do, indeed, have parents, as is requisite for all living beings. However, parentage alone does not guarantee one housing, especially in a new environment. I see no reason why this arrangement should be objectionable to you. I will cause as little disruption to the household as possible."

"Why's he talk like that?" Frank asked.

"He's British!" Jim blurted.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"He doesn't have an accent." Frank folded his arms and regarded the two of them suspiciously.

"Did I say British? I meant... British Columbian. Yeah. He's from Canada. They're very formal there."

Frank looked like he could tell that was bullshit but he didn't know enough about other countries to call them on it. "What's with his ears?"

The two teenagers looked at each other.

"...Perhaps the unfortunate accident I had as a child," Spock said.

"The unfortunate accident he had as a child! Yeah. Yeah, Spock got his head caught in a... mechanical rice picker. It stretched both his ears and they never went back. Just-just pulled on 'em like taffy."

Frank stared at them dumbly. He shook his head. "Okay. That load of crap aside, I am not letting some strange Canadian stay in my house."

"But you already agreed to," Jim said.

"What? No I didn't."

"Yeah, you did. As part of the foreign exchange program? You signed the paper and everything. Remember?"

"No?"

Jim looked puzzled. Then fake understanding lit up his face. "Oh. You might have... been drinking."

"You will be compensated monetarily for housing me," Spock said.

Frank perked right up. "How much?"

Spock looked to Jim.

"Uhh... A thousand bucks a month."

Frank nodded brusquely. "You can stay in Sam's old room. Try not to make too much trouble."

"I will not," Spock assured him.

Jim grinned, grabbed Spock's hand-- making him gasp, for some reason, and dashed up the stairs. He pulled the Vulcan into his room and shut the door.

He paced a bit, full of excess energy. "I can't believe that worked," he said. "Especially the part about the rice picker. But where are we gonna get six thousand bucks?"

"It was anticipated that I may require currency at some point during this mission. A number of precious metals were provided to me to be exchanged as I deemed fit."

"So there's just, like, a pot of gold in that crashed shuttle out there?"

"It is contained in a briefcase."

"Ooh. Ominous. I like it." He plopped down on his bed and gestured for Spock to do the same. "So. What do you want to know about Earth?"

Spock pulled out a device not unlike a tablet. "Have humans broken the light speed barrier?"

"Uh, no. Definitely not."

"How many disparate governmental bodies exist on the planet?"

"Over 200."

"Have humans started any new wars among themselves within the past twenty-five years?"

"Yes."

"How many?"

"Uhh I don't know, lemme Google it real quick." Jim pulled out his phone and tapped a few keys. "Oh. Um. Earth-wide? 125 new wars."

Spock put his device down. "125 new wars? In just the past 25 years?"

Jim shrugged somewhat sheepishly. "Well, Earth does have a lot of countries, and they don't exactly get along. And that's just according to Wikipedia. Plus, the definition of 'war' is ambiguous. Some of those could possibly be considered just... conflicts."

"Conversely, Earth may have 'conflicts' where blood is shed and life is wasted and yet you do not consider it a war."

Jim stared at him. "You can't expect me to answer for my entire species."

Spock immediately straightened and resumed adding things to his device. "Of course not. That would be illogical. Did any of these wars employ the use of nuclear weapons?"

"No," Jim said, glad to have something good to say. Well, moderately good. "No, humans only did that once and never again."

"Twice."

"It was all part of the same war. You know what I mean."

Spock arched an eyebrow. "That device you used earlier. What is it?"

"A phone. It does everything. It's primarily meant for communications, but it actually functions as a small computer. Earth is connected through a planetary, instant communications and information-sharing network we call the internet. Actually, humans have just entered a period of rapid technological innovation. It's called the Information Age. I think it started around when your dad came to visit, but I'm not sure if it would have gotten mentioned in his survey."

Spock wrote all that down with a stylus. Jim noticed he was moving his hand up and down rather than side to side. He would love to get a look at that script.

"Can I see?" he asked.

"You will not be able to read it. It is in Vulcan."

"Can I see it anyway?"

Spock's brow furrowed minutely. Nevertheless, he scooted closer to Jim so he could see his writing. The script was flowing swirls and dots and sideways dashes. It looked like music. It looked like art.

"It's beautiful," Jim said.

"...Thank you," Spock said.

"Tell me about Vulcan."

"What do you wish to know?"

"I don't know. Everything. Anything. What games did you play growing up? What's the environment like there? How is it different from Earth?"

"Vulcan is innumerably different from Earth, as it is a completely alien world. The planet is mostly covered with an arid desert climate, but does have one ocean and a tropical rainforest near the southern pole. Games on Vulcan are rare and exist purely for mental stimulation; however, my mother did teach me chess."

"You play chess?"

"I believe I just said that."

"No, no, I heard you, it's just... I didn't expect that. It's so human."

Spock stiffened. "I did not come here to be insulted."

"I didn't mean it as an insult," Jim said, genuinely confused.

"I am Vulcan. I was raised on Vulcan, I adhere to the Vulcan way, and I identify as Vulcan."

"I didn't mean to disrespect you or anything. I think it's cool that you're half-human. But don't worry, I definitely see you as Vulcan, I just... I don't know what I'm saying," he said. "Um. Do you want to play chess?"

"...I would be amenable," he said.

"Great!" Jim grinned. He pulled out his set from off the top of his dresser and set it down on the floor, not really having any other place to put it. He held out to two boxes of pieces, one in each hand. "Pick one."

Spock pointed to the box in his left hand, and Jim gave it to him. They both opened up their boxes of pieces-- Spock's white and Jim's black-- and began setting up.

"This board appears to be magnetic," Spock said.

"It is," Jim said. "Mom got it for me for my birthday. I don't actually to get to use it that often. I tried to start a chess club at school, but not enough people were interested."

"That is unfortunate."

"Yeah," he shrugged. 

Spock moved king's pawn forward two, a common and predictable opener. Jim endangered it with his queen's side knight. Spock defended it with a second pawn, and Jim moved pawn A2 to A4. Spock ignored that entirely and slid his bishop forward four.

Jim openly and blatantly rolled his eyes. He moved a pawn and thus completely blocked any hope of Spock continuing on with  _that_ strategy.

"You're gonna have to do better than that," he said dryly.

"I was unsure as to your skill level."

"That's fair, I guess. I'm not enough of a beginner to fall for the Queen's Gambit, though. Play me a real game."

"Very well," Spock said. He promptly moved his queen.

Jim grinned, and that's when the game really began.

* * *

 _Raised me straight and raised me true._  
_Spent my days becomin' you,_  
_Sunday mornin', evenin' too,_  
_Sittin' in your second pew._  
_Torn apart, my spirit's spent._  
_I fell in love on accident._  
_Wondered just what Jesus meant_  
_When he said all love was heaven sent._

"What are you listening to?" Spock asked, and Jim jumped out of his skin, jerking upright and sending his phone flying and ripping his earbuds out.

"U-um, nothing, just some-- lame music," Jim said. He scrambled to recollect his phone off the floor and pause the song.

"The lyrics are fascinating," Spock said. "What is it about?"

"Um," he said. "Uh, n-nothing, really. It's just a song."

"I was under the impression that most human music is used to tell a story, commonly a love story."

"Well, um, not all. These are just... words."

Just then, Frank banged harshly on the door to Jim's room. "Get dressed. We're leaving in twenty minutes." Footsteps faded down the hall as he walked away.

"Where are we going?" Spock asked.

"Church," Jim said. "It's Sunday."

* * *

The sermon was on repentance for sins and remaining clean and untouched by the immoral pleasures of the world.

Spock sat through it with rapt attention. When the preacher got to lust and sexual immorality, his eyes hardened, posture tensing.

Jim was... 

Spock seemed mad. Jim had never seen anything like it. It was a quiet rage, narrowed eyes and tense muscles and slightly clenched fists. Jim would never want to be on the other side of it.

The second they got home, Spock removed his shoes by the door, grabbed Jim by the wrist, and dragged him up to his room. He closed the door and turned on him, eyes burning.

"Explain," he said crisply.

"Explain what?" Jim asked, even though he was pretty sure he knew.

"That...  _creature_ was foresaying doom and eternal for all those inclined towards members of their own sex."

Jim nodded. "Yeah."

Spock looked furious. "And you support this?"

"No! No, just... don't tell anyone I don't support it, okay? Frank can't know."

"You fear him."

Jim's throat closed up. He had never felt so vulnerable in his life. Spock was getting too close, dangerously close.

"Not all humans are like that," Jim said. "It-it's okay. In cities. But Riverside is small, only got 700 people. It's a...  _traditional_ place."

"Hatred is a human tradition?"

Jim laughed bitterly, hollowly. "Yeah, definitely. Humans hate just about everything they can hate. Especially the humans that are different from them."

"You do not think highly of your race."

"Yeah, well my race doesn't think highly of--" he breathed and cut himself off. "I hear it's different. In other places. People can be open about that kind of thing without any fear. They even have Pride parades and special clubs at schools, in the cities."

"And here?" Spock asked.

"That preacher wasn't exactly of a minority opinion," Jim said.

"Would it be unsafe to make my inclinations widely known?"

Jim's eyes widened astronomically. "You're--"

"Indeed."

"Don't-- I mean-- I don't think you should let Frank know, but that's your choice."

"He is a violent individual?"

"No. But his opinions are," he said. "So-so on Vulcan...?"

"Bigotry is illogical."

"But same-sex couples aren't? Even though they can't reproduce?" Jim said. "Wait, I didn't mean for it to sound that way, I just meant--"

"I understood," Spock assured him. "The purpose of marriage is not solely reproduction. There are male-female pairings who cannot or do not reproduce and yet choose to marry anyway. That is their choice. On Vulcan, the primary concern is mental compatibility more than anything."

"It sounds nice."

"That is not to say there are not those whose logic fails them. But they are a negligible minority, and Vulcan certainly does not tolerate displays such as what I have seen here today."

"God. I wish I lived there," he said. "Or anywhere but Riverside, really."

"Vulcan is not a utopia," Spock said. "It has its flaws."

Jim snorted. "Like what?"

"The planet's self-perceived superiority has led to the prevalence of xenophobia, for one."

"Oh," Jim said. Then he remembered that Spock was half-human, and the tone of his voice changed. "Oh."

He swallowed. He got out his phone and unlocked it, pulling up his private playlist, the one he listened to far too often. "The song," he said. "The one I was listening to this morning. It was about being gay."

"Gay?"

"Yeah. Um, it's slang. For liking your same gender."

"Ah," Spock said. Then new understanding washed over his face.

Jim flopped back down on the bed and pressed play.

 _Father, will you forgive me for my sins?  
Father, if there's a heaven, let me in._  
_I don't know where to go if I should die._  
_We haven't been on speaking terms for so long, you and I._  
_I was a freak since seven years old_  
_Being cast away, I felt the cold_  
_Coming over me_  
_For every love I had to hide_  
_And every tear I ever cried_  
_I'm down on my knees_  
_I'm begging you please_  
_There's no place in heaven for someone like me_  
_Won't you open the door_  
_And try me once more?_  
_'Cause there's no place in heaven for someone like me._  
_There's no place in heaven._

"No Place in Heaven. MIKA," Jim said. Spock nodded.

He took the spot next to Jim on the bed and they listened to the music play in silence for hours.

* * *

Jim has a summer job. Spock doesn't.

He spends all the time that Jim is working on trying to repair his shuttle, with minimal success.

He thinks of Jim, and the music he listens to, on a playlist kept secret and hidden, like something precious or shameful or both.

 _I was born in that summer when the sun didn't shine_ _  
_ _I was given a name that doesn't feel like it's mine_ _  
_ _Lived my life as the good boy I was told I should be_ _  
_ _Prayed every night to a religion that was chosen for me_ _  
_ _  
_ _Sold my soul, broke my bones,_ _  
_ _Tell me, what did I get?_ _  
_ _Did my time, toed the line_ _  
_ _Ain't seen anything yet_ _  
_ _  
_ _Strike me down to the ground_ _  
_ _You know I've seen it before_ _  
_ _Make it hurt, I'll eat the dirt_ _  
_ _I just don't care anymore_

Promiseland, by MIKA. Jim had sung along to that one, laughing bitterly at the line about eating dirt. Spock was, understandably, troubled.

He was beginning to notice things. The way Jim ate with single-minded intensity. The way he and Frank never took their meals in the same room, went out of their way to ensure it. The way that Jim was just noticeably too thin.

As stated, Spock was troubled. And yet he found himself at a loss as to what to do about it. Jim had confided in him in stolen whispers that he intended to run away as soon as he was able. He would hypothetically wait until he was eighteen, or at least until he graduated, but he admitted that if the situation worsened to an intolerable degree, he could be ready to leave at any moment, whether he had the money and resources or not.

He kept a bag of clothing and basic necessities hidden under his bed. For emergencies. Spock found it one day, and felt compelled to ask him about it.

Jim insists that Frank is not abusive, has never abused him. But this is not normal either. Or so Spock suspects. He knows admittedly very little about humans and their cultural mores. 

But he knew that his mother had never instilled such fear in him that he created an emergency plan to flee. The idea would never have occurred to him in a million years. It was absurd.

Parental figures were meant to be a safeguard, to be their child's advocate. Not to be the one their child needed safeguarded from.

And yet Spock is at a loss as to what could be done. Frank cannot be brought up on any legitimate charges-- unfortunately, being so homophobic you become your child's living nightmare is not a crime. And even if he could be, he is a police officer. He is friends with most of his coworkers. They seem to take no issue with him, and would be unlikely to be entirely objective about any claims leveraged against him.

A social worker could have Jim placed into foster care, but when Spock suggested that, the teen froze up and ranted for fifteen minutes on why that was a terrible idea, making Spock swear not to tell any adults.

 _Ain't it fun  
_ _Living in the real world  
_ _Ain't it good  
_ _Being all alone  
_ _Ain't it good to be on your own_  
Ain't it fun, you can't count on no one

Ain't It Fun. Paramore.

Humans are peculiar and Spock is troubled.

* * *

Jim is appalled to learn Spock has never seen a Terran movie. He vows to show him all the 'good ones.'

Spock ends up watching Jim more than the movies. He is far more captivating, so free with his emotions, so unashamed of them. Spock could not begrudge him this, even though his upbringing dictated that he must. He did not want Jim to ever be ashamed, of anything. He certainly did not want him to stop smiling and laughing. On the contrary, as his readings on human-published psychological papers had revealed, this was beneficial to their mental health and should be encouraged.

Spock found that it was no trouble to encourage Jim to smile and laugh. He did not consider it a burden in the slightest. Accommodating his human needs in this manner was most pleasing.

Jim was beautiful when he laughed.

Spock determined that he did not do so nearly enough to be satisfactory, and in the interest of health, took it upon himself to elicit the reaction as frequently as prudent.

* * *

Spock found, quite illogically, that he spent more time in Jim's room than the one he himself had been given.

This was to be expected, however, as Jim's company was inordinately pleasant and Spock had an illogical desire to protect him, which was better served when Jim was in observable range.

They made a habit of playing chess while they conversed.

Jim's strategy was fascinating, in that it was completely illogical and Spock could not deduce what it was. 

Jim was fascinating.

He wanted to know everything. He wanted to know about other species, how space travel worked, which star Vulcan orbited what it looked like to live in a trinary star system.

"Vulcan solely orbits 40 Eridani A, of the Eridanus constellation, near Orion and Rigel. The B and C stars are only visible at night, as particularly bright stars-- one white and the other reddish orange. Only the A star is capable of sustaining life, as B is a white dwarf that sterilized its own system long ago, and C is a flare star that emits toxic levels of x-rays."

"Orion and Rigel," Jim said, moving his king. "You've mentioned them before. They sustain life?"

"Indeed."

"Who was Vulcan's First Contact?"

"The Andorians," he said. "Andoria is a frozen moon inhabited by a semi-insectoid humanoid race. They have blue skin, white hair, antennae, and many internal differences from Vulcans or humans. They are a people of great passion, with a love for the arts. Somewhat warlike."

"And Vulcan?"

"Vulcan is logical."

Jim laughed, and Spock was puzzled.

"I fail to see what is humorous," he said.

"Nothing," Jim grinned. "It's just-- surely Vulcan has more traits than just an adherence to logic?"

"The principals of logic and the teachings of Surak form the foundation of our society," Spock said. "In the time before Surak, we were savages, driven by uncontrollable emotions, far deeper and more powerful than what humans are capable of feeling. Surak showed our world a different way, a way of control. We are no longer slaves to emotion. We contain and control it, and we are free."

"So you guys don't show emotion at all?"

"We strive not to. Our actions are driven by logic alone, ideally."

"Huh," Jim said. "Well, that's interesting. I never would have imagined a society like that. To humans, emotions seem so... intrinsic."

"Many species throughout the galaxy find the Vulcan way to be-- for lack of a better word-- quite alien," Spock said. "Kaiidth."

"What's that mean?"

"What is, is."

"It's beautiful," Jim said. "Your whole language is beautiful."

Spock ducked his head back to the board and moved a piece. "On behalf of the Vulcan people, I thank you."

Jim grinned broadly. "Teach it to me?"

* * *

 _You put on a faith facade,  
_ _Think you're holy when you're not.  
_ _I hate to break it to you baby,  
_ _But you're simply lost.  
_ _You can right all the wrongs just to feel you belong,  
_ _But simply calling out sins don't bring you closer to God.  
_ _You're just a ghost at most,  
_ _A set of empty bones,  
_ _Searching for anything and everything to make you feel whole,_  
When it gets cold.

Holy. Pvris.

The tent revival. They were at the tent revival.

The preacher spewed hate and death and destruction and fiery torment for eternity for all the sinners, the horrible heathens who liked their own gender, the sexual deviants he equated to pedophiles, to bestiality, and at one point, he even compared being gay to domestic terrorism-- an outright attack on the moral integrity of the nation. A gay person in the congregation was as dangerous as a man trying to sneak a bomb on a plane. He swore up and down that even "non-practicing gays" were committing a sin within their hearts that would bar them from paradise for eternity. Being gay was unacceptable, and a one-way ticket to hell.

When the sermon ended, the crowd stood up and applauded, cheering. Jim sat frozen in his seat, as did Spock.

Frank slowly, menacingly, turned over to look at them.

Jim was instantly on his feet, cheering and whooping and clapping along.

Spock felt sick. There were hundreds of humans pressing in around him, their overwhelming joy battering away at his shields.

* * *

"You didn't clap," Frank said. The three of them were crammed in the cab of his pickup truck on the way home. "Why? Don't tell me you're an atheist."

"I am," Spock said. Jim's eyes widened and he tensed in his seat. This would not go well. "However, in a more cultural sense, I adhere to the tenets of Judaism, my mother's religion."

Frank's eyes narrowed. "Well, at least that's something," he said. "You should've clapped anyway. Shown some respect."

"I do not believe the speaker did or said anything to warrant my respect."

Frank braked the truck hard and pulled over on the side of the road. He turned the key out of the ignition and turned to face Spock, barely restrained fury showing in his features.

Jim wanted to melt into his seat and disappear, vanish from this plane of existence entirely. And take Spock with him.

"So. To clarify," Frank said. "You're a Jewish atheist and you don't respect Christian representatives of God that were called to the Lord by Jesus Christ himself."

"I find your claims dubious, but you are correct in that I hold no respect for that individual. I found his statements to be hateful."

Frank looked genuinely puzzled for about half a minute. Then understanding and anger washed over his face. "The gay shit," he said. "You think that shit is normal?"

"It is not aberrant. Homosexuality has been observed in hundreds of species, even on Earth. It is to my understanding that approximately one in every ten humans belongs to what you term the LGBT community. I understand that this planetary sector has only recently legalized same-sex unions, but nonetheless, you should have had sufficient time to adjust to the idea by now. The fact that you have not demonstrates bullheaded, backwards, and narrow-minded thought patterns on your part."

Frank snorted. "Sure," he said. "I believe all queers should have the right to marry. Right before they're rounded up into concentration camps and shot."

Spock's breath froze in his chest.

But what was even worse was that Jim didn't react at all.

* * *

_ Papa you're the one that taught me _ _   
_ _ By his stripes He sought me _ _   
_ _ And with His blood He bought me _ _   
_ _ Daddy you're the one that claimed _ _   
_ _ That He loved me through the flame _ _   
_ _ Now why can't you do the same? _ _   
_ _ Well I've been born again _ _   
_ _ But first was born in sin _ _   
_ _ Did you love me then? _ _   
_ __ Did you love me then?

Spock snuck into Jim's room that night to find the human teen humming along to that song again, eyes closed as if the pressure was holding back tears. Spock sat down carefully on the edge of his bed. He rested his hand on Jim's wrist, and the human clutched at him with unexpected ferocity, the force of it knocking Spock's shields down for a second.

_need scared love affection help help help help--_

Spock clamped down on his shields, breath catching, regret billowing out in his chest at the accidental intrusion.

"Let me take you away," he said. "We can leave this planet. Leave Vulcan, too. Go to a planet where such attitudes are unacceptable and we can be who we are in peace."

Jim blinked and sat up. He turned off his music. "Yeah?" he asked, voice rough. "Like where?"

"Betazed," Spock said. "The people there are empaths. Such treatment is unheard of in their culture, where the pain of one is the pain of all."

"Betazed," Jim whispered, now with wonder in his voice. "But we're just kids, could we even--"

"We could," he said. "It does not matter. We will make it work."

"You would do that?" Jim asked. "You would run away with me?"

"In a heartbeat, my t'hy'la."

Jim surged forward and kissed him, hands tangling up in Spock's hair. He pulled back and choked on a sob. "The shuttle," he said. "It's still broken. We're still trapped here."

"Only for five more months."

"Five months." Jim nodded. "We can make it through five more months."

* * *

_ Papa I don’t need a preacher  
_ _ I ain’t some kind of creature  
_ _ From some old double feature.  
_ _ I just wanna make you proud  
_ _ With the kind of love I’ve found  
_ _ But you say it ain’t allowed,  
_ _ Say that it’s a sin  
_ _ But it’s how I’ve always been  
_ _ Did you love me when  
_ __ He was just my friend?

Spock came from the skies and Jim could only conclude that he was heaven sent.

 

 


End file.
